


Trouble Sleeping

by keycchan



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, M/M, OR IS IT, Pining, Thar Be Dicks, There Is Only One Bed, Unrequited Crush, and the most important tag here:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19741918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keycchan/pseuds/keycchan
Summary: “One bed per room. Queen sized. Time to pair up and share, gentlemen.”“I’m with Red,” Billy declares, decisively and abrupt, before Red can even rub two braincells together to digest the situation. “Josh and Alejo should pair up.”Billy looks inhumanly nonchalant. Josh is already making noise. Alejo looks torn between amused and infuriated, while Goodnight and Sam just look amused.Not that Red would know. His cognitive function record-scratched after Billy’s mouth opened.—Or: There's a wedding, there's a hotel, and there's only one bed. Redmightbe a little bit screwed.





	Trouble Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> **additional things not included in tags:** background Jack Horne/Leni Frankel, background Sam Chisolm/Goodnight Robicheaux, kiiind of implied pre-Vasquez/Joshua Faraday if you tilt yr head n squint a little, handwavey hotel practices, potentially very OOC Red
> 
> enjoy!

Red doesn’t like hotels on the best of days.

He doesn’t understand why some people are so eager to stay there, why it’s such a big deal during vacations. He doesn’t understand tourists, and their obsession with temperature control that’s always either too cold or too warm. Beds that are always uncomfortably tucked in, bleached to stiffness, softened badly with the stench of overpowering flowers. The floors reek of cleaning agents at all times, there’s magically never anything good on TV, and little kids (and undoubtedly some adults) have pissed in the over-chlorinated pool. 

As far as Red’s concerned, all anyone would need on a vacation is a decent bed to sleep in, and a place to shit and bathe. The rest of it is just unnecessary at best, and annoying at worst. It’s all so artificial. _Unfamiliar_. 

Red _hates_ it.

The worst part about them are the lobbies, because of the people. Red’s being especially proven right on this trip, where Red’s been unfortunately stuck for the better half of the hour with at least two families armed with screaming children, waiting.

It doesn’t help that Red’s own company is slowly grating on his nerves. Having children turning him deaf in one ear is one thing. It’s _another_ thing entirely with Alejandro and Joshua arguing _again_ over absolutely nothing, Goodnight’s dramatic stories (that he’s already told a million times before) irritating Red more than they could possibly be entertaining Billy, and Sam abandoning Red to all of them in favour of walking back and forth between the reception and whoever it is that he’s on the phone with. 

Red can feel the vein in his temple about to burst. If he has to leave this hotel and sleep outside for the next two days, he’s more than willing to do so. He barely tolerates people on his good days, and he’s been forced to be stuck in crowds since they first went for departure at the airport. Being crammed in a flying metal death machine with thousands of others, then funneled along with more people into their arrival airport, and _then_ being stuck in this stupid lobby with these assholes for company?

While he would undoubtedly kill for these idiots, there’s only so much of their personalities he can take in environments like _these_ for such extended periods of time. Especially since one of the children roaming the lobby has taken to running around throwing a tantrum for no reason and his parents have, apparently, spontaneously developed selective deafness. _Fuck this place._

Fortunately, Red feels relief finally surge when he sees Sam shut his phone to walk over. The other four also shut up when they see him come over, which is just a bonus. Maybe they’ll be able to get to their rooms already, and Red can forcefully bleach out the sound of screaming children from his ears.

 _Un_ fortunately, when Sam does reach, he doesn’t say anything right away. Instead he throws two keycards at them, holding one up himself between two fingers while Alejandro and Billy catch the other two. Red frowns.

“The rest?”

Sam turns to look at him, calm as ever. Red’s starting to doubt the good feeling he had about Sam coming over. “That’s it.”

“Now, I may not be a smart man, but by my count there’s six of us.” Goody pipes up, chuckling nervously. “Shouldn’t there be six rooms?”

“There should.” Sam agrees with a little shrug. “Unfortunately, though, it seems that the hotel’s overbooked itself with some kinda conference happening. I called up Jack, but his place is still all filled up with both his and Leni’s family all coming in for their wedding.” A chorus of groans. Sam gestures until they settle down. “Good news: talked to management about our ordeal, and they managed to free up three rooms for us. On the house, complimentary breakfast.”

“You scared them into doing that, eh?” Alejo asks, amused, and cackles when Sam doesn’t respond with anything but a smirk.

“There’s a catch, isn’t there,” Joshua groans, “There’s always a catch.”

“Oh, sure,” Sam says a little too easily, “One bed per room. Queen sized. Time to pair up and share, gentlemen.”

“I’m with Red,” Billy declares, decisively and abrupt, before Red can even rub two braincells together to digest the situation. “Josh and Alejo should pair up.”

Billy looks inhumanly nonchalant. Josh is already making noise. Alejo looks torn between amused and infuriated, while Goodnight and Sam just look amused.

Not that Red would know. His cognitive function record-scratched after Billy’s mouth opened.

“Hey, I ain’t sharin’ a bed with this man!” Joshua whines. “You seen his limbs? He’s like a goddamn tarantula — and he _kicks_!”

“ _Ay_ , at least I don’t take up most of the bed by bulk alone,” Alejo fires back, glaring, “And you snore! Like a train! Everytime we go camping it sounds like there’s a railway in the other tent!”

“Don’t that sound appealing. Goody, you’re with me then,” Sam says, shaking his head at the others and smiling when Goody chokes. “Unless you want to sleep with a kickin’ spider or a steam locomotive.”

Goody grimaces. “Well, hell, if you put it that way.”

Upon the response, Alejandro and Joshua make even more noise. Goodnight starts laughing over something as he stands up, face going pink like boiled shrimp. Sam’s grinning over something else, and helping him up. Red doesn’t pay attention to any of it, because he’s too busy feeling heat rise from his chest all the way up his neck and to his face, pulse thrumming in his ears. Too busy staring at Billy — who nearly startles Red by suddenly appearing in front of him, dark eyes suddenly on him. _Shit._

“Need help with luggage?” Billy asks, voice low. As if Red’s carrying anything more than a backpack compared to his and Goodnight’s massive luggage bags.

Red doesn’t point this out though. Instead he stands, schools his face into the unimpressed, mildly-annoyed neutrality he’s basically patented and says, “Let’s go before my ears explode.”

A well-timed scream of delight coming from… one of the many kids around him erupts, making the lot of them wince, and head for the lifts. Somehow, six grown men of non-insignificant size manage to squeeze themselves (and their luggage) through the doors without any tags or fingers getting caught in the door. Red focuses on making sure no one presses the wrong button, that they get to the right floors to unpack, and ignores how the quirk of Billy’s smile and his arm pressed to Red’s side makes his stomach flip.

* * *

Unpacking takes all of five minutes with food as motivation, because Alejandro is a stomach with legs, and also because the flight over had meals that Red personally thought tasted worse than the commercial shit people feed dogs. So they go grab an early dinner, with the aim to come back to the hotel early, and then turn in early, seeing how Jack’s wedding is at the crack of ass.

(Red likes these men. He’d fight for them, live and die for them, but sometimes he wonders if befriending these loyally stupid and stupidly loyal idiots was a mistake. The fact he has to wake up at six in the morning on a Sunday? He’s reconsidering _many_ life decisions.)

Dinner is good. Chaotic, but good. They go for Chinese, where Red watches as they sit at a booth that’s far too small to hold six fully grown men, order half the menu, and then have to elbow each other just to get the food. At some point Joshua inevitably scalds his mouth over _xiaolongbao_ , accidentally elbowing Sam into spilling sweet sauce all over his pants (not that anyone can tell the difference since he’s got the closet colour coordination of a 2000s emo kid), which makes Goodnight laugh until Sam throws a _haukau_ at him, and _that_ makes Goodnight start sputtering and throwing dumplings back, Alejo off to the side laughing with his mouth full and half his stubble covered in gravy and fried rice until Joshua tries to steal some rice off his plate. The entire time Billy’s beside Red, laughing quiet behind the hand that’s holding his chopsticks, and Red ends up getting a nice shot of the food fight on camera for posterity and blackmail.

Overall? Just another Saturday night shitshow. At least Sam makes them all tip the waitstaff extremely generously for the absolute mess they’ve left behind. At this point, Red is surprised whenever they leave a restaurant without a permanent ban. 

“Remember, hotel breakfast opens up at six thirty,” Sam says when they’re back in their hotel, on their floor before they part ways to their separate rooms. “And we need to already be on our way over by seven thirty, so plan accordingly. If anyone ain’t up by seven, I’m not coverin’ for you when Jack comes to skin your hides for not showin’ to his wedding.”

“ _Alright_ , Sam, we get it,” Joshua grouses, “Not like I’m gonna be getting any sleep tonight, what with Mr Kicky Flamingo as my bedmate.”

Alejandro sniffs. “And I’ll be robbed of hearing one of my best friend’s wedding vows because I will be deaf by morning.”

“If they both die, do we get an excuse to show up late?” Red asks, deadpan. He’s not even sure if he’s kidding anymore. “They won’t force us to show up on time if we’re mourning the death of a friend.”

“With _two_ friends, maybe we can sleep in ‘til the lunch reception.” Billy slides in smoothly. Red barely stifles the way his mouth chimes upwards.

“Excellent, excellent. Keep arguing and morning’ll come in no time.” Goody interrupts, clapping sarcastically. “I’m turning in. You young bucks can stay out in the hallway ‘n argue as much as you want; I sure as shit ain’t getting any younger standing here listening to you.”

Everyone finally splits up properly after Joshua’s final comment of _you’re barely thirty five, Goody_. They’re not all next door to each other — thank god, because Alejo’s comment on Joshua’s snoring wasn’t unfounded and Red has no idea how reliably thick these hotel walls are — so Goody and Sam go all the way to the other end of the hallway, the noisy two are three doors down the opposite way from them, and Billy and Red are secluded nearest to the lift.

The room is exactly as they left it earlier that day. Red’s almost kind of glad that their original rooms got changed — while smaller, these are much less fancy, and much more comfortable. There’s a small desk, a mounted TV, a simple closet, some shelves with snacks and coffee they’re absolutely not going to pay for, windows with a decent enough view of the streets (not as nice as Sam and Goody’s, who can see the city spread out before them, but not as bad as Alejo and Joshua’s who get to see pasty tourists climb out of the pool.) The bed and comforter look fluffy instead of cleaned to stiffness, only a whiff of lavender to them, and the light’s got dimming function instead of just an on-off switch.

The room is, for a lack of a better word, _cozy_.

Red has no idea whether he’s about to explode or implode over the fact he has to stay in it for two nights with the biggest crush he’s ever had.

If Billy has any idea about Red’s internal meltdown, he doesn’t show it, walking over to where his luggage bag is set up by the desk. With the lights dimmed down, there’s just a soft yellow glow on Billy while he bends down to unzip his bag. Red has to tear his eyes away from the curve of Billy’s spine, and will the heat in his face to _calm the fuck down_ while he digs out his sleeping clothes. What is he, fifteen all over again?

“I’m going to use the shower,” Billy pipes up, startling Red out of his thoughts, “Unless you want to use it first.”

Red turns to see Billy looking at him, face as calm as a still lake. He thinks about having to sit and wait until Billy comes out of the shower, towel hanging loosely around his waist, droplets still streaming down miles of toned skin and muscles, and then immediately aborts the train of thought via nuking it into orbit.

“I’ll go first. Brush my teeth.” Red says, feeling like an idiot. Billy only nods, and Red makes a very measured, calm, normal-person walk into the bathroom.

He brushes his teeth hard enough that his gums bleed a little (he knows he shouldn’t do that, but he’s just a little bit tense right now) and then nearly drowns himself washing his face in an attempt to calm himself. Then he’s out, and internally claims himself a god for not having a heart attack to see Billy already topless, brushing by him to get to the shower. He’s very warm. By the time Billy’s locked the door behind him, Red’s wondering if he’ll manage to get through the weekend without his dick exploding.

Red distracts himself for all of twenty seconds while he changes. And then he spends seventy seconds in a staring contest with the bed. In the end he just picks the side he was already closest to, sitting like the bed’s rigged to explode at the touch of his ass. (It doesn’t. Red doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.) Either way, he very much doesn’t focus on the sound of the shower running, or how Billy must look inside, and instead plays some mindless games on his phone for the next half hour.

Red’s actually half dozing by the time the sound of a hair dryer’s clicked off from inside the bathroom. He feels like he’s running down a path that’s abruptly ended in a cliff, and he plummets off the old dirt road right as he jolts to wakefulness. When his eyes fly open, he sees Billy staring down at him with what looks like amusement despite the fact his face is still placid. Red grunts, shoves away the embarrassment burning hot in his gut, and rubs at his eyes.

“Gonna be up for awhile?” Billy inquires. Red almost doesn’t hear the question. Billy’s hair is dark and soft-looking and distracting, flowing over his shoulders like that. Also, no man should look that good in just a plain black tank top and loose sweats.

“No. I’ve got some stupid wedding to wake up at six for.” Red replies, tearing his eyes away from Billy’s shoulders.

There’s definitely a small smile at the edges of Billy’s mouth there. “Coincidence — I’ve got one too.” Billy replies, neutral-toned and dry.

“It’s unfair,” Red replies, smirking, “It’s not even _our_ wedding.”

 _Shit._ Red realizes his mistake as they leave his tongue, smirk dying instantly, but the words are out before he can stop them. His pulse speed up against his will, heat rising up the back of his neck. He scowls, mostly at himself, as he tries to eliminate the slip up through sheer force of will.

But if Billy caught it, though, he’s being nice enough not to laugh at Red, only grinning at the shared joke. If he noticed, he’s doing a great job of acting like he hasn’t. Billy’s got excellent self control like that. Red kind of hates him for it. 

For all that everyone talks about how both he and Billy both have the expressive depth of a concrete wall, he knows they couldn’t be more far apart. Billy’s the most in-control guy Red knows next to one Sam Chisolm — he smiles and laughs easier than Red, his eyes speak volumes, but the difference is that Billy only shows what he _wants_ to show. He could be upset or downright pissed, and no one would know unless he wanted them to. Red’s seen Billy break a man’s jaw while looking like he’s reading the nutritional info on the back of a cereal box. It’s what makes him one of the scariest boxers in the local amateur ring.

Red _wishes_ he had that kind of control. He’s good at keeping his face at an unimpressed, mildly annoyed neutral, but only because that’s how he genuinely feels, almost all the time. He’s got an unending _reservoir_ of mildly annoyed. But anyone can tell when he’s upset, or happy, or disgusted. He’s an open fucking book and he _knows_ it, hates it, and it’s why his go-to move whenever he’s feeling something he doesn’t like is to just ditch the situation and walk away. Stay quiet, remove himself. No one can make him admit to having feelings if he barely talks, or just isn’t there. He wishes he could have at least a fraction of Billy’s schooled patience, or at least the veil of it — Red just exits the situation or fixes it bruteforce if he doesn’t like it.

Except for this one. He’s got nowhere to run on this one, and he’s not forcing _shit_ , so he’s stuck, and Red feels like the constipated back end of a chihuahua. Emotionally. _Goddamn it._

He’s so focused trying to drown out his embarrassment that he doesn’t notice Billy switching off the lights until they’re already off, plunging them into almost complete darkness. The only thing giving them light are the windows. The moon and city lights illuminate Billy as he comes to the other side of the bed, somehow lithe and effortlessly graceful. There’s a glimmer in his dark eyes, and the light holds his edges like a well loved sweater, sharp shadows in the dip of his collarbone and the definition of his face. When he crawls into bed, the mattress dips with his weight. Red swallows, and pretends the action is completely unrelated.

“You have an alarm?” Billy asks as he settles in, voice quiet and low. The kind of voice that makes Red wish he had cold water on hand, to douse himself with.

“Yeah,” is all Red says instead, “Two.”

Billy doesn’t say anything to that — just nods, and then turns over on his side. Pulls up the blanket to his shoulders, and settles in proper. Something in Red’s chest feels actually _disappointed_ at suddenly not being able to see his face; the rest of him is saying _good, now go to sleep_. His brain in particular is working overtime to pointedly ignore the heat curling in his gut at how the moonlight illuminates the curve of Billy’s shoulders.

 _It’s only two days,_ Red tells himself. _This time Monday, you’ll be in your own bed, in your own place. Just two more days, and then you’re home free._

He repeats it over and over in his head, instead of thinking about how much he’s wide awake now. He thinks about how nice it’ll be to go back home, instead of thinking about how he doesn’t feel tired at all. He repeats it over, and over, and over, and doesn’t think about how Billy’s just an arm’s reach away.

After all, he’s got to be up in a couple of hours to attend one of his best friend’s wedding. It’s just that he’ll also be alongside the biggest crush he’s had in a veritable age the entire time.

It’s a long, long while before Red falls asleep.

* * *

Red greets the new morning with a new fact:

Billy Rocks cuddles like a damn octopus, and Red is _fucked_.

It’s early enough that it’s still dark outside. Dawn hasn’t even started to break yet; even with the curtains open, the only light from outside comes from the street lamps and occasional passing car. Red doesn’t know what time it is — too early, by the fact he hasn’t heard his alarm go off yet — but he’s not going to check. He doesn’t dare fucking _move_. Because he doesn’t need any light to feel the warm arm draped across his chest, the legs tangled in his own, the breath and facial hair brushing his jaw.

Red feels a little like someone whose cat’s fallen asleep on them. It doesn’t help that Billy’s probably the lightest sleeper among their group. If it were anyone else, Red probably — no, _definitely_ wouldn’t give a shit about jostling someone awake. But this is Billy. And even beyond Red’s massive, stupid crush on the guy, it’s hard to _want_ to wake Billy just because of how he looks when he sleeps. Red’s always been thankful for his excellent eyesight — it’s one of the many things that make him fucking fantastic at his job as both a bowyer and the owner of an archery range — but.

Times like these, he wonders if it’s a curse. Even without moving his head, if he shifts his eyes he can see Billy’s face, so close to his own. Here, in this liminal moment between dusk and dawn, Red sees him, and thinks: _soft_.

Billy isn’t a soft man. He’s hard lines, hard edges. In the fragile streetlight, Red can make out the edge of Billy’s angular cheekbone, the curve of his jaw defined, the ugly cauliflower ear that’s come from years of boxing. There’s a sharp contrast in light and shadow on Billy’s shoulder and collarbone, the muscles of the arm that’s curled around Red’s torso. It all says a lot about power. A lot of strength coiled in tight muscles and a knife’s edge. Billy himself is kind of like a knife made human, except more stubborn, and much more sharp. 

But here, like this, Red also sees dark lashes, shut in sleep, that reminds him of raven feathers. Mouth slightly parted, dark hair fanned on the pillow, rogue strands across his face. The lines on Billy’s face have evened out in sleep, frown lines gone temporarily, and it’s all just so _soft_.

It’s a testament to Red’s willpower that he doesn’t reach out to touch Billy’s hair, his face. Also because he’s not that much of a creep. It’s just that Billy looks so _young_ , like this, even though Red knows he’s younger than Billy is by a handful of years. Red’s the baby of the group, whether he likes it or not (he doesn’t like it, at all, ever.) 

Still. He knows Billy’s seen some shit. Billy’s been through a lot, most of which he still hasn’t said anything about, and none of them have been stupid enough to try and pry out. Billy already looked intimidating as hell the first time Red met him through Alejo at the local gym, the first time Red moved into the neighbourhood — and then the crease between his brows and the lines on his face only got worse after the whole Bogue shitshow that lasted far, far too long.

Like this, though. Like this, Billy actually looks his age. And Red’s not a soft kind of person, but something actually _aches_ in his chest, looking at Billy like this. At peace, relaxed. Not tightly wound in control like he usually is, even if he makes being in control look effortless most of the time. 

But you don’t get that kind of self control without being on constant alert. Red knows, intimately. He’s tense as fuck most days, and he doesn’t have nearly half of the self control Billy has — it’s part of why Red admires him so much. And Red’s not a sentimental kind of person. Admiration from himself is a limited commodity even to his closest friends. 

But _shit_ , it’s hard not to admire someone like Billy — someone not only loyal, but also seeming to have a perpetual contest between his mind, mouth and aim to see which one is sharper, and they’re all simultaneously winning. Billy’s both patient and also a show off, shameless, prideful, graceful, full of dry humour and good spirits to the people who the small handful of people who know him best. All of them parts of why Red had woken up feeling the way he did, the day after Sam and Emma won the court case against Bogue. 

( It’d been the morning after the night they celebrated so hard Red didn’t remember any of it. He’d blacked out halfway between a shot of tequila and a glass of vodka; still, he thought he managed to wake up before anyone else, seeing all the passed out bodies on the living room floor of Teddy Q’s flat. He figured out he was wrong, though, the second the first scent of coffee hit him in the face. Didn’t bother getting mad about it regardless — just forced the world to stop spinning enough to get back on his feet without tipping over, and then made his way to the kitchen.

Billy was there, leaning against the counter, fresh pot of coffee resting while he nursed his own mug. Red probably would’ve walked over to pour himself one too, if he weren’t stuck in place, staring at Billy, who hadn’t yet noticed him. Who was looking out the window over the sink, shoulders a long line of ease, scarred knuckles unclenched. Who wasn’t a long, rigid line of strict control. Who, since the first time Red met him, was actually relaxed.

When Billy finally saw Red, he didn’t even straighten up, or say something sharp and dry, like he always did. Billy, in the light of early morning, in someone else’s kitchen — he just smiled at Red. Smiled like he was relieved. Smiled like he was just genuinely happy to see Red, happy to have him around. Happy that this was all over. Happy that they could all continue with their lives or start again. Like he was saying _we made it. Me and you, all of us._

And then there was the sound of clattering cans and heavy footsteps, and the moment shattered as Alejo stumbled into the kitchen, blearily reaching for the coffee pot. Red couldn’t even react. He was too busy watching Billy straighten up, greet Alejo with a _wow, very graceful, man,_ shoulders a straight line even if his fists didn’t tighten like they did when they were all handling Bogue.

Back in control. Easy as breathing. Like the moment before never happened. Then Billy made his way back into the living room, breaking into another small smile as he passed Red before going back to a mask of passively amused neutrality, and the moment turned from _never happened_ to _just between us._

Red remembers a lot of things from that morning. Remembers Goodnight getting up and then immediately tripping over the coffee table. Remembers Alejandro finding Teddy and Emma passed out in the bathroom, on the toilet and in the bathtub respectively. Remembers Joshua sleeping face down, and Sam sleeping standing up, propped cross-armed against a bedroom closet.

Most of all, Red remembers Billy’s smile in the early light of morning, the way it’d broken soft and _real_ , and he remembers thinking — )

 _Shit. I think I really like this guy_.

It’s not a new thought, but it’s the thought that comes back to him now, unbidden, as he watches Billy breathing. There’s just a lot to admire. And like back then, Red can’t tear his eyes away for the life of him. Just like always: Billy being Billy, and Red being magnetized to him.

Red hates it. Not Billy, but the entirety of _this_ ; his stupid attraction, stupid schoolboy crush on his best friend. One of his best friend’s. Who is dating _another_ one of his best friend’s, which makes everything even worse. If Billy was just unattainably perfect, fine — Red could’ve, probably, worked up enough courage or a _fuck, why not_ attitude to ask him out. But no. Billy is perfectly attainable, and in what must be the most secure relationship Red’s ever seen besides his own parents’, they’re _great_ for each other. _Happy_ together. 

He’s never seen a couple this in sync, this attuned to each other’s thoughts. Sometimes it seems like they know what the other is thinking without even saying anything. They’ve known each other, likely been together since even before Red even realized this motley crew of idiots existed on his side of the world. Which makes this, this entire _stupid_ attraction he has on Billy feel even worse. It’s felt like so long since Bogue happened and Red _still_ can’t get over this dumb crush, and it makes him feel like a creep, like a sleazeball everytime he catches himself staring at Billy.

He’s not going to break them up, obviously. He’s not that much an irredeemable dick. But he can’t stop staring at Billy either. Wanting. Not back then, not today, not now with Billy wrapped around him —

And as Billy makes a quiet noise and shifts, _definitely_ not while Billy’s hard on is _pressing against Red’s own fucking thigh_.

Red’s muscles hurt from how tense he is. For a moment he’d thought Billy was waking up; now he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that he didn’t, because there’s a hard, warm length pressed up against his thigh. Unmistakeable. Red’s throat is rapidly becoming as dry as sandpaper, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of surprise or whether he’s throat’s that thirsty for something he knows he can’t have. He’d say _fuck Billy Rocks_ , except he actually does, and thinking about it will only make the situation worse.

It isn’t like Red isn’t going through the same shit. Not even like it’s uncommon with people with his kind of equipment to wake up with a hard on. The only real difference is that he was doing a great job of softening his own by sheer force of will and imagining Joshua in a mankini — but now that he can feel Billy’s own length pressing up against him, it’s like someone’s attached wires and alligator clips directly to Red’s dick and firing it up. 

Now his body is suddenly very, very painfully aware of every _other_ part of Billy pressed up against him. As if it weren’t unfair enough that Billy has all the qualities Red wishes he had, there’s also no mistaking the warm, lean tone of his body pressed up against Red’s side. Billy only looks skinnier than the others when he’s layered up — but Billy’s been a boxer for years. Been going to the gym, doing martial arts, _body conditioning_ for years before that. There’s no mistaking the tone of his forearms, the curve of muscle on his thighs, the rippling of it whenever he flexes his back and shoulders. Red’s been trying to catch up for ages, but Billy’s inhuman self control and discipline and patience for inept, inconsiderate gym-goers has Red beat. So now, not only is Billy hotter than the surface of the fucking sun, but Red’s caught in the awkward position where he wants to _be_ Billy, be _with_ Billy, and be _in_ Billy.

Red hates everything right now. If he could disappear through sheer force of will, he would have _yesterday_. Red doesn’t deal well with emotions, both other people’s and his own, and right now there’s a trainwreck of feelings in his chest, colliding with the heat pooling in his gut. He’s somehow having both a heart-on and a hard-on. The more he feels Billy curled up against him, the more the stupid part of his mind starts yelling at him to just make a move, turn on his side, hold Billy _back_ , press his mouth to Billy’s mouth, and throat, and chest and stomach and —

Billy’s phone goes off.

A bunch of things happen in quick succession after that: Billy’s breathing pattern suddenly changes as he startles awake, Red’s heart threatens to give out, and Billy’s eyes flicker open right as Red’s eyes snap shut. He breathes in deep, inhales slow, like he’s still fast asleep and not staring at his best friend like a creep for the better part of the hour. For once, Red’s more than fine with overly thick hotel comforters; if nothing else, it hides his tent.

For a second he wonders if he’s busted. _Don’t Stop Believin’_ is still blaring in the background, and he can feel the mattress dip as Billy sits up. If Billy talks to him, or even shifts the comforter too far, Red is screwed. There’ll be a knife to his throat, and Red would deserve it.

It doesn’t happen, though. He just feels Billy reach over him to grab his phone, music cutting. And then the mattress dips again as Billy untangles his limbs from Red’s, and slips out of bed. Relief floods his system, if only temporarily, because the next thing Red hears is Billy going (very quietly,) _Yeah, Goody?_

Billy continues talking in hushed tones. Still thinks Red is asleep. Red keeps his eyes shut and his breathing calm, and lets the sour, ugly taste of envy pour cold water over the heat in his abdomen. Lets himself feel grateful that he’s not weak, not dumb enough to listen to that stupid voice in his head that _wants_ , because while Red doesn’t think he’s that great a person, he’s not that much of an asshole to make a move on his own friend’s _boyfriend_. He swallows the shitty taste in his throat, and keeps quiet.

Billy finishes the conversation after a couple of beats. Probably Goodnight asking if Billy’s awake, if they’re up yet, ready for breakfast. Of course Goody would want Billy up to eat with him. Red doesn’t feel hungry himself. For a second he’s pissed at Billy, for asking to be paired up with Red for some reason instead of Goodnight, pissed at _himself_ for agreeing instead of arguing against it — and then he lets it go, because if he keeps getting angry, Billy’s going to know he’s awake right away. Billy doesn’t even deserve it. Even couples need their space, and Red hasn’t really hung out with Billy in awhile. Maybe it’s just that, which makes Red feel even worse for being a creep.

If Billy sees anything on Red’s face, he doesn’t say anything. Only gets up, and the sound of a phone being placed down and soft footsteps padding across carpeted floor lets Red open his eyes a sliver. He regrets it instantly; the second he opens his eyes, his gaze is immediately drawn to Billy stretching, arms above his head, hem of his tank top showing the sharp V of his hips, all leading to the thick, unmistakable semi Billy’s sporting in his loose, painfully thin cotton sweats. Whatever wilting thoughts Red had, they’re gone now. All he can feel is himself, rock hard in his own boxers.

Red fucking hates himself. Hates himself for not being able to tear his eyes away as Billy pads to the bathroom, hates himself for immediately getting hard again despite what he was just thinking about, hates himself because even though Billy is one of his best friends and Goodnight is one of his best friends and he’s got no right leering at Billy when he’s with Goodnight, he sticks his hand down his pants anyway as soon as the bathroom door shuts.

The ugly taste in his throat doesn’t go away, but it doesn’t stop him from jerking himself off hard and fast under the covers. When he spills into his boxers, he swallows the shame.

* * *

Considering the literal rude awakening, things start picking up as soon as they join up with the others for breakfast. It’s one of the rare times Red actually _likes_ the chaos they get into as a group. Hard to think too much about how he’d jacked off to one of his best friends when Sam is boat racing espresso shots with Alejo and they, collectively, decide to wake Josh up by tipping the mattress over. Josh had screamed as he went down, and then chased them out of the room with the bedside lamp in hand. It was funny.

Then Red doesn’t have time to think much of anything at all, because they head to Jack’s wedding venue, and the morning goes down in a whirlwind.

They barely even have time to greet the bride and groom properly when they arrive. Seems like a million small things go wrong at once: the priest is caught in traffic, and Jack gets pulled away to come up with contingency plans B to Z with Sam; one of the many children attending the wedding steals the bridesmaids’ corsages, forcing Billy to ruin some of the florist’s arrangements to DIY a few himself; someone must’ve accidentally messed with the wires overnight, because the band’s equipment starts going haywire until Alejo and Goody come over to help; one of the cake deliverymen passes out halfway walking to the back of the truck, making it fall on Joshua to help carry it out; and Red himself gets caught up in hunting down extra tables when the caterers come in to take up more space with their dishes than initially thought.

The ceremony itself is nice, though, in the end. They must’ve earned some occasional good luck after Bogue, because the priest ends up arriving just in time, the bridesmaids look fine, the equipment is working, the cake doesn’t topple over, and Jack is _happy_. Red gets to stand among the line of groomsmen and watch as Jack grins and tears up and kisses his new bride. It makes even Red smile outwardly. 

( If anyone deserves a second chance, it’s Jack Horne. The look on Jack’s face when he greets the audience with his new bride in his arms is worth the way Red nearly dies of boredom listening to the priest preach for a veritable age. Worth the hurricane of chaos leading up to it. )

Now that the actually wedding is over though, Red’s given the chance to rest his legs and sit awhile. He’s made himself comfortable where he is at the far end of the bar, watching people mingle and dance. He doesn’t actually drink much these days, but it’s fine. Less awkward to sit here than alone at the table — the other five left it one by one to join in on the celebrating.

Red could join them, if he wanted. He doesn’t though. It’s not that he hates the festivities himself — it’s Jack and Leni’s wedding, which means everything is cozy and easygoing. A million miles away from the snooty weddings he’d been forced to join before where he’d been surrounded by hundreds of people he didn’t know and forced to adhere to social rules he didn’t care about. _This_ wedding is understated and homely; the modest decorations are largely DIY, the flowers don’t crowd the venue, the music is an acoustic five-piece band from Leni’s hometown, and the only people here are close family and closer friends. Red doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating in here. That makes this wedding more than tolerable.

He’s just not much of a party person. Not really a dancer, not really into making small talk. As much as this crowd is more tolerable than most, Red’s still got limited patience for crowds in general. He’s fine with watching. It’s enough. He doesn’t need to be pulled into activities to be made to feel like he belongs there, and he’s grateful his friends know it well enough that they don’t push.

For all he’s content with sitting around and watching until the party ends, his body disagrees. He winces as his stomach growls out loudly to him. And then _jumps_ in his seat as someone touches his shoulder.

He swings his elbow back in a kneejerk reaction. Whoever it is, they know him enough to block it, and It’s confirmed when Red actually looks up and sees Billy hovering over him, face carefully balanced between neutral and apologetic.

“Sorry,” Billy says. “Thought you heard me walking here.”

He sounds like he means it. Or so Red thinks anyway, because half his brain function is being dedicated to trying really hard not to stare at Billy’s everything, encased as it is in the dark vest, button up, slacks, all tight-fitted and sculpting.

Fortunately, it’s about here that the memory of what he did this morning catches up to him, and he lets the shame and guilt pour cold water over the want stirring in his gut. It’s enough that he can school his face into his usual expression of annoyance. He’ll blame the heat in his cheeks with the alcohol he hasn’t even been drinking, if anyone asks. “Next time, be louder. Could’ve hurt you.”

Billy cocks an unimpressed brow. “Right. Because it’s not like I get beaten up for a living.”

Point taken. Red rolls his eyes, and changes the subject. “The others?”

“Sam and Goody are catching up with Emma, Alejandro is eliminating the buffet. Josh is ripping Teddy off in three card monte. Jack’s new in-laws are eating it up.”

Red snorts. “Of course he brings a deck of cards to a wedding.”

Billy smiles at that. Red finds himself smiling back, a little of the ugly tightness in his chest loosening up. But right as Billy opens his mouth to reply — something equally dry, probably — Red’s stomach decides to be a jackass and interrupt with a loud growl not even the music can cover up. The heat floods back to his cheeks before he can think about it. He tears his eyes away from Billy before Billy can laugh at him over it.

… Billy doesn’t, though. There’s a beat of silence before Billy finally opens his mouth and says, “You didn’t eat.”

Red shrugs. Stares at the patterns in the countertop. “Food tastes like dog shit. Alejo took my share.”

“... Did you even eat anything from the breakfast buffet this morning?”

“No,” Red scrunches his nose. “Just coffee.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t pass out during the ceremony.” Billy points out.

Red finally turns to give Billy a deadpan look. “If I did, it was because the priest put me to sleep.”

Normally, that kind of comment would make Billy smile. Or at least make him get that little amused glint in his eye. Now that Red’s looking at Billy, though, he finally sees the furrow of his brows, the frown on his face. Red wants to wipe it off. He knows what this is about — the other six always harp on him for being picky with his food. Red doesn’t think he’s picky, he just likes to think that he actually cares about what goes into his body. He doesn’t even complain that often. Red isn’t a _complainer_ , if he doesn’t like something, he just won’t do it. And his disdain for hotel buffets and Jack’s taste in food are on about the same level.

Everything’s just so… _bland_. He doesn’t get it why people like that kind of thing. It’s either that or the food sits on the opposite end with shit that’s too greasy, or rich, or dry or gritty. Everything here on the wedding buffet table looks fit to put him into a carbo coma, and just the _smell_ of the butter in the scrambled eggs at the hotel buffet had put him off his appetite. He’d rather go hungry for a few hours. It’s not like he’s gonna starve to death. He doesn’t know how Alejo can stand putting whatever the fuck he wants into his body, but Red doesn’t plan to find out.

“Do you want to head out and eat?” Billy asks, abruptly.

It brings Red out of his thoughts, frowning up at him. “What?”

“I know somewhere good near our hotel. Not my first time staying in the area.” Billy shrugs. “Unless you want to stay for the line dancing.”

Red feels his face scrunch automatically at the thought, Billy’s mouth twitching up at it. He liked the ceremony and all, supports Jack and Leni, but if they make him _line dance_ , he’s going to break something. And anyway, he’s not about to stick around and be associated with the trainwreck Joshua and Alejo will inevitably be on the dancefloor. If he ends up in the background of anyone’s Facebook video with that as the main subject, he’s going to stop coming to these events altogether, friends or not.

Besides. He trusts Billy’s taste in food more than he trusts any of the tastes of anyone else in the group, and that’s not his stupid crush speaking. 

“Fine, I’m in.” Red shakes his head, moving to stand. “What about the others? Goody?”

“Heard Goody and Joshua making bets on who’s the better dancer later. Pretty sure Sam and Alejo are in on it.” Billy says, wrinkling his own nose. “We should just tell Jack we’re leaving.”

Red agrees, and so they set off to find the newly married couple. The venue isn’t huge, thank fuck — Jack and Leni are still making their rounds around the tables, so they’re easy to find. The way Jack’s face lights up at the sight of them makes Red smile despite himself — he wasn’t there when Jack lost his first wife as well as his kids, but he was there to help clean her grave on their anniversary more than a few times, along with the rest of the seven. He healed some over the years, according to Sam and Goodnight, but it was slow going. Too hung up on the past, too much regret. He needed to move on and didn’t know how.

When Jack started seeing Leni, it’d made a world of difference. He was incandescent. Red prides himself on being extremely judgmental of anyone his friends date. Sometimes it’s to be a dick, but more often than not it’s because he’s protective of his jackasses, and they don’t always have the best taste. Red didn’t have anything to say, though, the first time Jack brought her with him to their weekly poker night. And when Jack looked to them to ask if he should marry her, Red didn’t even hesitate to say yes.

It’s still a decision Red doesn’t regret, seeing them now, glowing with joy and arm in arm. When he says as much, Jack laughs, something loud and full — a sound Red heard only in a blue moon before Jack started seeing Leni.

“Happiest I’ve been in a long time,” Jack beams, kissing his new wife on the forehead. When she whaps him gently on the arm, he laughs some more. “Wanna thank y’all for makin’ it here today. I know it’s a long way from home, but it was important for Leni ‘n I to marry somewhere important to us.”

Red nods. He knows the whole story of how they met. “Congratulations again.”

“Thank you for having us,” Billy adds.

Leni _tsks_ , even as her face radiates with happiness, patting Billy on the arm. “Nonsense, we should be thanking _you_ for everything you’ve done. Would’ve been a disaster without you — I swear, no matter how well things plan out, these sort of things always have a knack for going wrong at the last second.”

“Well, by the Lord’s grace, it was all sorted out in the end.” Jack hums, before looking back at them. “Now, were you lookin’ for us for something? Did the speakers break again?”

“The speakers weren’t broken, someone accidentally plugged them into the wrong system.” Billy replies smoothly. “No, just wanted to tell you Red and I are heading off early.”

With anyone else, Red would think they’d be offended that their closest friends would leave their wedding so early. At any other event, Billy would probably use a headache as an excuse — it’s how they got out of attending Sam’s niece’s birthday party last month.

But Jack’s wise enough, known them long enough that his eyes twinkle with mirth, Leni shaking her head beside him. She sighs, but she’s still smiling when she puts a hand on her hip and goes, “Still not keen on dancing, hm? Should’ve guessed.”

“Surprised you two even made it this long,” Jack replies, grinning. “Well, have a safe trip to wherever you both are going.”

“Will do,” Red replies, before pausing, and then just saying, “Maybe we should grab lunch tomorrow.”

Jack blinks, and then strokes the bush he calls a beard. “Sounds good, actually. I miss you talkin’ to you boys, ‘specially with all this wedding prep. It’ll be awhile before Leni and I fly back home…” 

“Oh, just go, Jack,” Leni chides, “Think you boys would like catching up outside of this wedding crowd, and I’ll get to bring my bridesmaids out for a drink or two.”

Jack finally shakes his head, and grins. “Sounds like a plan.”

“We’ll text time and place in the group,” Billy nods, “Nowhere too far.”

Plans settled, Jack and Leni move in to hug them. Red doesn’t even mind — he gives out physical affection maybe twice a year, but this is an exception. Besides, Leni doesn’t hug him too hard or stinks of perfume. It’s nice. Maybe not so nice when Jack nearly lifts him in a bear hug, but also Jack is a bear of a man, so every hug from Jack is a bear hug. When they walk away, they’re still arm in arm, and radiantly besotted. It’s a good look on them.

By the time Red looks back, Billy’s just putting his phone back in his pocket. Red raises a brow.

“Told the others I have a headache. You’re accompanying me back to the hotel.” Billy says by way of explanation. “We should get out before Joshua or Alejo sees us and drags us back in.”

Red’s already started walking, he doesn’t need more motivation to get out of here. “Do you even know where we’re going?”

Billy’s mouth raises into a smirk at him. Red pretends it doesn’t make his heartbeat jump. “I’ve got a place in mind.”

* * *

The place Billy has in mind turns out to be a Southeast Asian restaurant just down the block from their hotel. Red blinks when he looks up at it — he doesn’t think he’s had Southeast Asian food before. It fits about the usual style of Billy’s places to eat though: small, cozy, not too crowded or too empty. Calm neutrals and bright pops of colour, instead of the obnoxious reds and bright lights of others. Red’s gotten migraines from stupid fast food lights in the past, and he knows Billy hates them just as much. 

It’s evident Billy’s been here before, judging by how he walks in and immediately asks for the corner booth, where it’s more private. More obviously, he’s clearly been here before based on how he orders for the both of them without even looking at the menu.

It should feel presumptuous. If any one of the others tried to order for him (with the exception of Alejo, sometimes) he’d have kicked them under the table. Maybe glare at them the whole night, just because he can, and because it makes them extremely uncomfortable. But he trusts Billy, is the thing — both with his life and his food orders, and not just because of his glaring, annoying, childish crush.

He’s proven right when the food finally arrives. It’s simple food — coconut rice, bamboo shoots, salted egg, some kind of clear vegetable soup on the side — but it’s good. It’s really good. The bamboo shoots have so much flavour packed into them from being stir fried in dried shrimp and garlic and chilli that he almost forgets that the dish has no meat in it whatsoever. When Red looks up after vacuuming up half the plate, he doesn’t even roll his eyes at the smug look on Billy’s face.

“How did you find this place?” Red asks, when he’s almost done. Billy ordered iced lemongrass tea for the both of them, so he drinks from his glass. It’s refreshing as hell. “We just got in yesterday.”

Billy shrugs. “Not my first time here. My sister used to live here awhile before she moved last year. Every time I flew in she’d drag me here straight from the airport; could’ve sworn she wanted to stuff me so full I couldn’t escape.”

Red nods. He’s met Sophie all of twice — once when she’d been in town on business and they went for drinks, the other when Billy got shot by one of Bogue’s thugs and she’d flown in immediately with the rest of the family. Even after Billy got discharged and went through physical rehabilitation like the fucker was being timed, she still scraped money out of her pockets to visit him every other week to make sure he was still alive. Red has to admire that. There’s a lot to say about how much she’s willing to do for her family, even if he wouldn’t like that kind of attention on himself. He’s got a really thin line between ‘caring’ and ‘smothering’.

“Surprised she didn’t feed you herself.” Red points out. “One of her special recipes.”

Billy’s nose wrinkles at the thought; Red can’t help the way the edges of his mouth twitches at the sight. The other thing about Sophie: her unique taste in culinary adventures.

“She would. She gave me these… seaweed cookies, last time.” Billy huffs, reaching for his glass. “I’d rather eat Josh’s shitty hot sauce.”

Red raises a brow. “So you’d rather blow a second hole out your ass.”

Billy’s got some terrible sense of timing, because he chooses that moment to go for his tea, and then immediately choke on it when Red’s words come out. And then he _laughs_. Hair tousled, tea dripping down his beard, eyes screwed shut in whole, genuine laughter — and Red feels something in his chest both drop, and swell. He knows he’s screwed. He’s been screwed for a long time, and even now a part of him feels flooded with warmth, like he could snap this moment to memory. Like he could remember this, keep it in his pocket for colder days. 

Another, less warm part of him hopes to god that Goodnight appreciates Billy as much as he deserves, because if Red ever finds that Goody doesn’t, he’s liable to do some property damage just to prove a point. And then, after a moment, he takes those thoughts though and shoves them into a cramped, tiny box in his brain. Welds it shut. Buries it somewhere hidden, private and bittersweet, because he knows that Goody loves Billy. Knows that they’ve been close friends since longer than Red’s even known Billy, knows that they’re attached at the hip for a reason, that Billy wouldn’t waste his time on someone who wouldn’t appreciate him. So Red nukes the box out of orbit and goes back to talking to Billy instead, because he doesn’t stand a chance, and he needs to start being okay with it.

He guesses he’s luck in a way, because for all these stupid feelings he has about Billy, talking to Billy also makes it easy to forget about that kind of thing in the first place. Crush or no crush, Billy’s one of his closest friends. Close in a way that Red doesn’t really have with any of the others, except maybe Sam, but even that’s a little different. Billy and him, they just reverberate on the same wavelengths. Red doesn’t like talking much to most people, and neither does Billy — but they talk a lot, when they’re alone together. They don’t rant and ramble like the others, but they pass the conversational ball back and forth; in itself, it’s feat for Red. But around Billy, it feels natural.

Like, they’re still trading jibes when they pay up for their meal. Still talking when they’re riding back up the hotel elevator. It’s a great feeling; Red hasn’t really been seeing much of Billy the past few weeks. It’s feels good to talk to him like this again, bonding over things on a wavelength he doesn’t meet with anyone else. Feels good to hang out with him, to just be in his company.

By the time they reach their room Red’s shoving Billy’s shoulder to get inside, stomach aching from laughter over some stupid story about Sam and Jack first meeting Joshua and being weirded out by this man from behind an apartment door going _you’re my good boy Jack, I’ll miss you so so much, you absolutely lovable bastard_. Billy actually fucking snorts, and Red’s cheeks hurt from grinning, shutting the door and turning the lights on.

“— Jack can kick all our asses, and we know it.” Red points out.

He can see Billy’s mouth trying and failing to hide a smirk. “The dog or the bear?”

Red grins. “Both.”

Billy snorts out more laughter at that, before shaking his head. His hair falls over his eyes, and Red feels his heart fucking _swell_ no matter how much he doesn’t want it to. “Like it’d be hard anyway. Sam and Goody are old, Josh is always drunk even when he’s sober, Alejo’s had over thirty years to learn control over his limbs and hasn’t succeeded, you’re too soft, and I know to pick my battles.”

Red gives Billy the deadest stare he can manage. “Lying is a sin, you know.” He manages for all of three seconds before Billy grins, and his own mouth betrays him with one in return. “And I’m not soft. You’re the one who’s only just started coming back to the ring last month, so I can definitely lift more than you.”

“You’re stronger, but I’m faster.” Billy answers, tilting his chin up in defiance. “And I’ve got training. Eight years worth.”

“Bull _shit_ you’re faster than me,” Red snorts, ignoring the last part because it’s true, “We never settled that bet.”

( The ‘bet’ in question is one made over a year ago, when Billy’s sister came into town and they all met her for the first time. They’d went to the Imperial, their usual bar, and then somewhere between the third beer and their fifteenth dumb idea of the hour, Sam had wondered aloud which one of them was faster, and that was it. Kickstarted a bet that hasn’t been resolved to this day. Red still wonders if he ought to kick Sam’s ass over it, or at least train Sam’s cat to pee on his couch. If nothing else, the man deserves it for naming his cat _Horsie_. )

“It’s settled, it _has_ been settled.” Billy interrupts his thoughts with that collected, punch-in-the-mouth expression, all smug as he leans against the desk chair. “I won.”

“You weren’t the one Alejo was feeding shots to.” Red points out, crossing his arms. 

“Josh was feeding me shots too,” Billy counters, “I was also drunk.”

“You only got drunk after _I_ got drunk first,” Red argues, “You had the advantage. It wasn’t fair, so it doesn’t count.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Billy says, except there’s no hostility in it. He’s smiling, actually. Like he’s fond. (Red takes that thought and maybe-hope, and lights it on fire.) “Maybe we should have an old fashioned shootout. Like in one of those white spaghetti westerns.”

Red cocks a brow this time, leaning against the wall. “Only if I get to use a bow.”

“Sure,” Billy shrugs, “If I get to use my knives.”

“You don’t need knives. That hairpin of yours can kill anything.” Red points out, nodding to the silver, glimmering thing stuck through Billy’s elegantly knotted hair. “What kind of cowboy uses knives anyway?”

“What kind of cowboy uses a bow and arrow?” Billy fires back. 

“I don’t need to be a cowboy to beat you in an old spaghetti western shootout.” Red says, playing up his cockiness. Except would it be cockiness if it were true? “You’d be a cowboy. The others too. You’d be some deadly showoff who fucks with arrogant white people for fun.”

“So basically, me as I am right now.” Billy deadpans, makes Red smirk, “I’d be the best. The others would make shitty cowboys.”

Red cocks a brow. “Alejo knows how to use an actual lasso.”

Billy gives Red a _stare_. “Alejo’s online handle on everything is _Vaqueromantic_.”

Red doesn’t even realize he’s laughing until he’s already near doubled over, gut aching. It surprises even _him_ , but he can’t help himself, Billy’s own laughter echoing in his ears. He doesn’t even realize Billy looking at him, when he straightens back up, shakes his head, grins like a fucking idiot. “Fine. If they make shitty cowboys, one of them can be the damsel in distress. Every hero needs a love interest, right? You want Goody in a petticoat for you?”

He’s in a good mood. So good, in fact, he doesn’t even notice Billy not responding until a beat stretches on too long, and Red looks up to see Billy _looking_ at him. Rigid, still, dark eyes trained on him in a way that makes Red’s pulse race. It’s both the same look Billy’s been giving him all day, a wildly different look from what Red’s used to, and something almost painfully familiar. It’s intense, apprehensive — and what Red swears is just _soft_. Like Billy looked at him, once upon a time, in Teddy Q’s kitchen, mug of coffee in hand.

Red grin disappears, and he straightens up. Pulse ratcheting up a notch. He’s both confused and hopeful and he doesn’t know why. “Billy?”

“I don’t want one.” Billy says, just as abruptly. Keeps his eyes trained on Red.

Red blinks. “You don’t want one.”

“Petticoats. A damsel in distress. I don’t want one.” Billy says. And then he swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple on that bronze throat making something traitorous pool in Red’s abdomen as Billy doesn’t break eye contact, only brings Red’s entire world to a halt as he says, “All I’ve wanted is you.”

Red _stares_. All sound comes dulled. The world freezes for just a half-second.

And then Billy is surging forward, and crashes his mouth into Red’s.

Red doesn’t even think. His brain ceases function the second Billy jumpstarts all his senses; the look of sheer determination on Billy’s face before he closes in. The scent of the coconut conditioner Billy uses every day, the feeling of Billy’s hands grabbing Red by the front of his vest. The taste of lemongrass on the tease of Billy’s tongue. The single, _desperate_ noise he makes when Red kisses _back_ that wipes all remaining cognitive thought from Red’s mind.

It’s everything. Everything Red’s dreamt about, thought about, _wanted_ for way too long now. It’s everything and _more_. Nothing could’ve prepared him for how fucking _nice_ Billy’s waist fits in Red’s palms, the solid strength of his body coiled underneath the tight-fitted clothes. It’s everything Red’s wanted and thought he’d never have, and now that he has it he takes and gives and memorizes as much as he can as Billy kisses him hard enough to hurt, Red returning it just as desperately, goes as far as to run his tongue over the seam of Billy’s lips, memorizing the _taste_ of him —

And then, with all the subtlety of a gunshot, Red feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. Remembers the day, the dinner, that the rest of the seven might be looking for them and _oh_ , fuck, _Goody_ —

He shoves Billy away, full strength, so fast that Billy nearly stumbles backwards onto the bed. He doesn’t, though, only stares with eyes wide and mouth kiss-swollen when he catches himself. Red can’t look at it. Red’s still raggedly breathing and trying to control it as he backs against the wall, eyes blown open, confused and hurt and _angry_. Billy stares at him right back, just and confused and hurt. Less angry though. More towards _crushed_. 

Red doesn’t even have the capability to process that right now.

“What the fuck,” Red says, and then, “What the _fuck_ , Rocks?!”

Red’s only ever seen Billy this wild-eyed and helpless _once_ , and that was during a particularly dark period of the Bogue timeline. While Red hates it just as much now as he did then, this time feels almost worse because he doesn’t know what the _fuck_ is going on. When Billy tries to take a step closer, Red viciously shakes his head, desperately angry and confused. Billy stops in his tracks, but he doesn’t step back either. Holds a hand out, like he’s trying to calm some feral cat, and then thinks the better of it and clenches it at his side. 

“Red,” Billy tries, “I’m sorry, I thought you were — that we —”

“That _what._ That I’d be _okay_ with you doing that?! Fucking hell, Billy —” Red curses, and then forces himself to spit out the words that feel like _poison_ in his throat, “Are you fucking _cheating_ on _Goody_? With _me_?”

That, weirdly enough, makes Billy pause. Body stiffening, making Red furrow his brows. The hurt and confusion in Billy’s face abruptly just turns entirely into confusion as he goes, “Why the hell would I be cheating on Goody?”

Red _stares_. “What, you didn’t just mash our faces together?”

“Because I _like you_ , you fucking asshole,” Billy bites back, cheeks going ruddy even as his face still looks furrowed and unhappy, “I’m not cheating on anyone, why the fuck would you think th — “

Then, something must click. It must, because Red _sees_ it, sees the exact second recognition clicks behind Billy’s eyes and he straightens up.

“You think I’m dating _Goody_?” Billy says. The surprise in his tone? It sounds really, _really_ genuine.

Red blinks. “Aren’t you?”

“No?” Billy replies, astounded. “Goody and I are just, we’re friends. Really close friends, but we’re not — shit, Red. _Shit_ , you thought I was dating _Goody_?”

For a moment, Red can’t find the words to say. This isn’t news, it’s a fucking revelation. This is something new slamming into his brain with all the force of a eighteen wheeler. Red is staring at Billy, who’s staring at Red, while Red processes the information again and again until it finally _clicks_ and — 

Red realizes that he’s a fucking idiot.

Great. Fantastic. He collapses back to lean against the wall, pressing a palm to his face as he tries to recover from this frank shitfest of a situation. All this time, all these _years_ — and he’d just _shoved_ Billy away, called him a cheater — fuck. This isn’t how he imagined it going with Billy. This isn’t how it’s _supposed_ to go. He feels shame and embarrassment, running cold and slimy down his spine and still somehow burning through his face. He wonders if anyone would hate him much if he just ditched tomorrow’s lunch and flies back home. Now.

He’s finally letting the reality of the fact he’s probably screwed up his chances with Billy _forever_ as a decent human being, let alone anything else, he hears a snort. When he lowers his hand, he sees Billy sitting at the end of the bed, running fingers through the loose parts of his hair. He doesn’t look pissed. He looks _amused_. That confuses Red. If someone wrongfully accused _Red_ of cheating, he’d have made them swallow a few of their own teeth. But Billy’s just smiling, like this is funny. Like Red hasn’t made a complete trainwreck of what could’ve been a pretty enjoyable evening.

When Billy notices him looking, he only shakes his head. “Not your fault, now that I think about it. That you thought Goody and I are dating, I mean. Goody and I aren’t — never have, never will — but a lot of people think so, because we’re that close, I guess. We just assumed you all already knew.”

Red feels dread sink in his gut. “Does everyone know except me?”

Billy pauses to think here. And then shakes his head, to Red’s odd relief. “Don’t think so. Not that we were thinking about it, but if _you_ didn’t catch on then Alejo and Joshua...” He shrugs. “I’ll tell them some other day. Either way. Even if I was interested — and I’m not — Goody already has someone else.”

 _That_ ceases Red’s flow of shame, instantly replacing it with curiosity. “Who?”

Billy smiles up at Red, amused and playful and smug, all at once. “I wasn’t the only one trying to room with someone I was interested in.”

… Oh. _Oh_ , seriously? “ _Sam?_ ”

Billy nods, looking way too pleased. Expression caught somewhere between extremely amused and pretty proud. “It’s pretty new. The dating, I mean — they’ve been looking at each other for fucking years. About time they did something about it. Got tired of Goody’s sadsack 3AM texts.”

Red surprises himself by snorting out a huff of laughter at that, some knot of tension easing a little in his chest. It’s good to hear about his dumb friends and their dumb, but happy, relationships. Sam and Goody is something he didn’t even really consider before, but now that he knows it, he wonders how he never saw it. Goody and Billy went way back, but Goody and Sam went further back still. They served together, if Red recalls. The only times he’s seen Sam grin wide and full and absolutely stupid has only always ever been with Goodnight, talking about anything from the good old days to how to deal with Sam’s ridiculous cat.

Sam and Goody. Jack and Leni. If Josh and Alejo could finally take their heads out their asses long enough to see that half their ‘fighting’ is just terribly disguised flirting, maybe they could finally fuck and stop wrecking shit instead and even this all out. Maybe it’ll be soon. Miracles do happen, after all — like how right now, for some reason, Billy doesn’t hate Red.

“Feel so fucking stupid,” Red mutters to himself, dropping his hand as he shuts his eyes and thunks his head back against the wall. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Billy says, and Red already knows Billy is shrugging even without seeing it, “Goody and I are just. Like that. People assume, and it wouldn’t be the first time. We’re closer than the average man and wife.”

“That’s not even a high bar to set,” Red groans, “Straight people are fucking weird anyway.”

 _Billy_ jerks into a laugh at that, like he’s been startled into it. It’s the whole, full laugh that Billy only ever shows a very tiny handful of people in his life, and just like every other time Red hears it, it makes Red’s own mouth twitch up. Makes something in his chest and stomach soothe, ease. 

Billy doesn’t say anything else, though. Neither does Red. His mind’s simultaneously racing and also too taken aback to really function right. There’s some weird mix of embarrassment over what he did, a bigger sense of relief, and the faint ghost of the sensation of Billy’s mouth hot on his, beard tickling Red’s chin. And then there’s the fact Billy had approached him first. Kissed him first. Told him he was _interested_ , that he _liked Red_ , and that beyond this entire shitshow, Billy’s _actually been looking at him_. In the same way Red’s looked back. Red can’t wrap his head around it, but he also kind of wants to do something stupid and maybe cheer. Red doesn’t cheer for _anything_ , but he wants to cheer now, dumb as it sounds. 

The silence goes on for another few beats. Not a terrible kind of silence, just one that says _the fuck do we do now?_

Billy ends up breaking the silence first. “I thought I was doing it right.” Pause. “I thought you knew.”

Red opens his eyes, glances down. “Doing what right?”

“... ‘Courting’ you. I mean. That’s the word Goody used.” Billy says, and Red watches in fascination and secret thrill as Billy’s own cheeks gets ruddier. Doesn’t meet Red’s eyes. It’s cute as fuck, and Red’s pulse is starting to do laps again. “I’ve been trying for awhile.”

 _Awhile?_ How long is ‘awhile’? Shit, was Red that blind? He shuts his eyes again, tries to recall every moment he’s spent with Billy over the last couple of months —

“... Wow.” Is all Red says, realization tumbling over him like bricks, opening his eyes to stare at Billy, heat rising in his throat. 

Wow. And Red thought his own face was burning up. The ruddiness spreading through Billy’s cheeks is going all the way to the tips of his ears. For all he knows Billy’s going to stick that hairpin of his in Red’s throat if he says it aloud, Red can’t help thinking the blush is too fucking cute. Red is going to implode. _Awhile_. Billy insisting on rooming with him, sitting by his side. Skipping out early on Jack’s wedding just to bring Red for food, and _here_ — Shit. _Shit_.

“Could’ve just asked,” Red says, and ignores how rough his voice sounds, “Dinner and beer. I would’ve caught on.”

“Would you have?” Billy challenges, and. Okay. Fair. “... You deserve better than that. You do.”

Red doesn’t even get to process the heat racing up his face when Billy locks eyes with Red again. Just like before; intense, determined, even as his face seems to be catching fire, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows. His fists are clenched at his sides, looking like he’s trying not to run. But Billy never runs. Billy never runs from a fight, from his problems, from anything. Never chooses flight over fight. And right here, right now, Red knows Billy’s here to toughen it out; he doesn’t break eye contact, even as the splotchiness of his face is starting to spread down to his neck.

So fucking _determined_. Billy Rocks, stubborn as a boulder. Full of single-minded determination, looking at _Red_ like that, like he _wants_ Red, like it’s taking all he has to stand here and say it, and _fuck_. Red admires that. Red admires so much of Billy, _wants_ Billy back, and when Billy swallows, once, all of Red’s doubt crumbles. The apprehension and stress and second guessing; they all uncoil in his chest, and let something warm and affectionate take their place. Just like that.

“Fuck it,” Red finally says, voice rough and more helpless than he knows what to do with, “Come here.”

Billy looks at him for just a moment — and then this time, Red meets Billy halfway, mouths crashing together almost hard enough to hurt. Inhibitions, restraint, all gone; they know what they want now, know what they have in their hands. They’ve been waiting too long. Red doesn’t waste any time now, grabs Billy’s back and fists the fabric, drags him closer. Pours the months and months and months and _months_ of wanting, of desperation, of longing into it, and _fuck_ if Billy doesn’t do the same back. Billy’s gripping onto him like he’ll vanish into thin air if he lets go, and it’s enough to make his heart hurt. Something painfully tender and emotional threatening to overflow in Red’s chest, something he’s unfamiliar with handling, doesn’t know how to deal with. _Especially_ now that he knows Billy feels the same.

But it’s alright. It’s okay. When Billy pulls him closer, he realizes — he doesn’t need to think about it right now. Doesn’t have to have it figured out immediately. All he knows is that he wants _Billy_ , and Billy wants him _back_ , and that’s something all on it’s own.

He focuses on the moment instead. Every feeling, concentrated and potent; the _longing_ , pining, conveyed over fingers clutching tight to fabric and mouth against mouth. And then Red takes a chance, takes a dare, and bites Billy’s lower lip. Sucks it into his mouth and lathes his tongue over it, memorizes the taste.

Billy breaks into a fucking _moan_ against Red’s mouth.

Red’s last brain cell jumps ship.

It’s Billy that pulls him further up off the wall, _yanks_ him, pushes him down onto the bed, and Red goes all too willingly. He doesn’t know if its the impact or the realization of _Billy, Billy, Billy_ with and against him that winds him, but he doesn’t even care, not when Billy follows after him, meeting Red through tongue and teeth and something adoring, something desperate and needy, as if in disbelief. They suddenly become amazing multitaskers in the next thirty seconds; shuffling up the bed, frantic in removing clothes while still trying to keep their hands, mouths, bodies against and on each other. They’re fucking _great_ at it. Naturals.

 _Seeing_ Billy’s bare skin is one thing. Anyone with functioning eyes would know he’s a fucking unfair masterpiece. But then Red gets to run his hands over it, feels everything he thought he couldn’t have, and once he starts he can’t stop. Touches every part he can find, every part Billy lets him, and Billy lets him touch everything — the curve of muscles, the dip of his spine, the shadows of his throat, the line of his pelvis. 

Turnabout is fair play, because Billy can’t stop touching Red either. It’s like he’s everywhere at once, mouthing at Red’s throat, his chest, feeling Red’s own biceps and thighs. The entire time, they’re moving. They don’t _stop_ moving. Heated skin against heated skin like they could create fire together like this, like they could burn the world down between them. Ragged breath against ragged breath, the hard line of each other rubbing in a way that drives any coherent thought out of Red’s mind because he still can’t believe this is _happening_ , and he almost forgets to fucking _breathe_ when he looks down, seeing their cocks rubbing against each other, rutting like they don’t know what else to do with themselves.

It takes awhile and not long enough when0 he dares part from Billy’s mouth for more than a couple of seconds, and when he does he chances a glance up. Red regrets _nothing_. Commits it to memory, because _fuck_ ; Billy, hovering over him on strong, lean arms, hair falling over his face. Eyes gone smoky and nearly glazed over with _want_ , mouth kissed red and glistening and swollen. Red won’t have to watch porn ever again. Any long, lonely night and he can just take this image, again and again.

But because it’s Billy, he doesn’t stop there. It’s _Billy_. The man was born with the sheer intent of going over and beyond anybody’s expectations, because he likes showing off like that, likes being _extra_ like that, and Red should know this except he’s barely even imagined him having a _chance_ with the guy, let alone having Billy slide down Red’s body without breaking heavy eye contact, licking his lips and circling the base of Red’s erection with one hand and _sliding his mouth over Red’s cock into tight heatwetwarmth_ oh _fuck_ —

Red throws his head back and _moans_ like it’s been ripped out of his throat when his cock hits the back of Billy’s. Whines like he’s shameless, low guttural sounds in his throat when his hands fly down to grip at Billy’s hair, tangling his fingers in, _pulling_. And then Red does it again, because when he does Billy moans right back around his dick, eyes shutting, hips jerking against the sheets. Rutting for friction, perfect ass clenching; it’s the most erotic thing Red’s ever seen.

This morning, he thought he’d never even have a chance with Billy, and now Billy’s nose is near buried in the thick thatch of dark hair at the base of his erection, swallowing around him as he bobs up and down, tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing like Billy wants nothing less, wet noises sloppy and _obscene_ and Red never thought he was _this_ noisy in bed but fuck, fuck, _fuck_ it’s because it’s Billy, it’s always _been_ because of Billy, and when he comes hot down Billy’s throat Red’s spine arches right off the bed with the sheer force of his orgasm, Billy’s hands clamped bruisingly on his hips.

He spends all of ten seconds trying to catch his breath and remember his own name, before Red pulls Billy right up and crashes their mouths together again, desperate to memorize the feel of Billy’s blowjob-red mouth against his own, the taste of himself on Billy’s tongue. He flips Billy onto his side, and then wastes no time to reach his hand down, wrapping it around the hard, hot length of Billy, listening to Billy groan so fucking _pretty_ when Red grips him and then strokes him, thumbing the slit and gathering the pre before spitting on his palm to ease the way. Billy throws his head back, breathing heavy and hot against Red’s jawline, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other gripping the back of Red’s neck as Red watches mesmerized at Billy’s cockhead, red and glistening, peeking in and out of his fist again and again before he sets his sights on the long line of Billy’s throat, latching on and sucking hard enough to hurt his own tongue.

Billy keeps making all these pretty, pretty sounds that Red’s never heard before. They’re the best thing he’s ever heard next to Billy’s own laughter, and Red’s memorizing every single one of them. Maybe it’s just like how they talk, how they are. Maybe they’re together on this wavelength too. Maybe they fit together better than Red ever thought, and he finds himself believing it more than ever as he finally dislodges from Billy’s neck to kiss Billy again, swallowing the sounds as Billy’s hips jerk and thrust once, twice, three times and then spills hot and creamy down Red’s fist. 

Red has no idea how long they lie together after that. Collapsed side by side, breathing hard and dazed, sated, over the fucking moon and sailing somewhere close to Jupiter. When they come back to each other after what feels like a gorgeous millennia, Red finds Billy watching him, still breathing hard. Red holds his gaze and licks some of Billy’s cum off of his thumb, just to watch Billy’s eyes darken again, dick twitching against Red’s thigh, before Red wipes the rest off on the sheets.

So that just happened. Red still can’t believe it. Coming down from his post-orgasm high and he can’t believe _any_ of this has just happened. He’d never really let himself _imagine_ , and now he’s here, and it still surprises him when Billy surges forward to kiss him again — softer, this time, lazy and contented, but no less deep or wanting. And it’s an even bigger surprise when he kisses back, winds his clean hand through Billy’s hair and feels it solid. Feels it real. When they part, Billy’s hair is a fucking mess, and Red feels himself grinning like a fucking idiot. When he buries his face into the pillow a little, he swears he sees Billy do the same.

“Fuck,” Red says, voice hoarse in the best of ways, “ _Fuck_. We’re stupid. We could’ve been doing that ages ago.”

Billy _laughs_. Not at him, but that full laugh again, the one that makes a different kind of warmth spread to Red’s body, blooms something terrifying and tender in the space between his ribs. This time, Red welcomes it. After all, he’s allowed to. And he’s not going to take that for granted.

“We can make up for lost time.” Billy finally answers, voice low, hoarse in a way that makes the other kind of warmth pool low in Red’s belly. “We have all night.”

Red peers up, just a little. He’s already down for it, but he can’t help but point out, “Thought we were having dinner with the others.”

“Can’t,” Billy smirks, “Got a headache, remember?”

The laughter bubbles in Red before he can contain it, and when it’s out he surprises himself by realizing that he doesn’t _want_ to. He laughs into the pillow as a free hand traces Billy’s cheek, feels Billy grinning against his palm. When he looks up, he’s thumbing slow circles on Billy’s jawline, and Billy’s hand has crawled to Red’s hip, resting and contented. When Billy catches Red looking at him, he pulls Red in closer. Red goes willingly.

“Shit, Billy,” Red murmurs, “I think I really like you.”

Billy’s face _softens_. His eyes go tender, and when he turns his face to kiss Red’s palm, he says, “Good. I think I like you too.”

  


* * *

  
  


“... Uh oh,” is the first thing Alejandro says in the hotel dining room the next morning.

Joshua raises a brow where he’s seated beside him, frowning a little. “Uh oh? Why uh oh?”

“They’re smiling, güero,” Alejandro squints, “They’re _both_ smiling.”

They are. They really, really are, and Red can’t wipe it off his face even as he sits down at the table with his plate of food. Joshua and Alejandro are openly staring now, but Red really can’t find it in him to care, digging into the omelette he’d managed to snag off of the tray before the hotel staff took it away. 

“Shit, Red’s eating hotel food,” Josh says in horror, “Okay, the fuck gives? If y’all killed someone last night, I deserve a heads up before folks start putting me in cuffs and questioning me.”

Red barely glances at them before continuing to shovel egg in his mouth, Billy barely hiding his smirk behind his coffee cup. He doesn’t usually like hotel food, but he’s hungry, okay? They’d just _barely_ made it to breakfast in time, him and Billy. A testament of the night they had, if Joshua and Alejo — the two most notorious heavy, late sleepers among their group — beat them to breakfast. 

Was worth a little sleep deprivation and hunger though. There’s a lot of things Red would give up just to keep having Billy body arching under his. Sure, hotel food tastes greasy and overly-rich and terrible to Red most of the time, but at this point he’ll eat anything — He’s in too good a mood to care.

Red gets about halfway through his omelette before Joshua abruptly says, “Wait. Billy, whassat on your neck?”

Red’s eyes widen the same time Billy slaps a quick palm over the base of his throat — the same place Red’s mouth had been over and over last night, biting and sucking and licking — and Joshua’s eyes grow as big as dinner plates as Billy’s own cheeks grow darker.

“... No. _No_ ,” Alejandro says, astonished, looking back and forth between them before his mouth breaks into a massive grin, slapping the table, “ _A la verga_ — you and Billy!”

Red doesn’t say anything in response, but the way his face betrays him by going ruddy all the way up to his ears has Alejandro hooting and laughing, completely uncaring about the rest of the room staring at him. Joshua’s mouth is open wide enough to catch flies. Billy looks half like he’s about to try to pull his collar up in embarrassment — but then he catches Red’s eye. Holds it, like he’s thinking, for just a second — and then doesn’t. 

Instead he regains that ridiculous determination, and he uncovers the red mark to pick up his coffee again, looking for all the world like he doesn’t care anymore that everyone knows. Like he’s _proud_ of it.

When he catches Red’s eyes, the fucker _smirks_. Red swallows his mouthful of omelette, and kicks him under the table a little bit to cover the heat going up his own throat. If Billy gives him a hard on in the middle of a hotel dining room, he’s liable to drag Billy back to their hotel room and miss their lunch with Jack.

“The fuck?! I thought you were with Goodnight!” Joshua exclaims at Billy, incredulous.

“Thought who was with Goodnight?” comes a voice from behind them, and when they all turn to look, Alejandro laughs so hard he nearly cracks his head on the table.

Billy nearly spits out his coffee, Joshua bursts out into surprised laughter of his own and Red nearly chokes on his omelette when Sam and Goodnight approach them, one looking all too smug and the other redder than the tomatoes in the buffet salad, a fucking _myriad_ of hickeys dotting his skinny pale neck. Red finishes his food in a hurry while they sit down, because if he keeps hearing Alejandro cry-laughing like that, he’s going to choke and die right here at this dining table.

“Jesus _wept_ ,” Joshua laughs in equal parts disbelief and pure amusement, “Thought only Jack was gonna be havin’ fun on his wedding night — Shit, Alejo and I were betting on the wrong pair.”

“Seems so,” Sam says, cool and calm as ever if not for the way his body’s clearly humming with a good mood, placing his own coffee down and dumping a sugar packet in, “Easy mistake to make. Should be fixed up now though.”

“Hard to miss,” Red agrees, and snorts when Goodnight buries his face in his hands.

Billy’s grinning, body a long line of casual ease now that the one visible hickey he has on his neck seems like nothing in comparison. “So, Sam. Did you _know_ that Goody only brought one collared shirt this weekend by accident, or?”

Sam hums, taking a sip of his coffee. “Maybe.”

“Sam Chisolm, you are _evil_.” Goody’s wrecked voice whines from his palms, and everyone laughs then.

Breakfast just goes like that; Alejo finally recovers from his joyous laughing fit with tears in his eyes at some point, Josh alternates between how he didn’t see any of this coming and whining about how _he_ didn’t get anyone pretty in his bed over the weekend until Alejo smacks his arm, Goodnight tries to hide his neck but ultimately fails when Sam takes his hand and makes them both grin like lovestruck idiots, and Billy looks amused and gorgeous and _fond_ the entire time. 

It’s good. It’s better than good. Red may think they’re all idiots, but they’re _his_ idiots, he’d still live and die for any of them. And when Billy takes his hand under the table, twines their fingers together — 

Red figures that, just maybe, hotels aren’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> me, a week ago with airshipmechanic:
> 
> me, tonight: welp
> 
> thank you guys for reading if you made it to the end !! not beta'd, any mistakes are mine, please be gentle, this is my first time writing red harvest and i'm still very [vague frustrated hand gestures] about nailing his voice. also i got tired of looking at this over n over so it's out in the world now hahaha comments and kudos are all very loved and appreciated and help fuel the Extra gene that keeps me churning out these frankly ridiculous fucking fics. this was supposed to be 5k. it only had one main trope. what happened.
> 
> title is from "Trouble Sleeping" by Corinne Bailey Rae
> 
> take care and stay safe, gb !!


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